Blow Your House Down
by dress without sleeves
Summary: Once upon a time, there were two children. Separately, they were handfuls. Together . . . well. Preseries Robin and Marian, outlining their shifting relationship from the first meeting to the last.
1. The Truce

**Author's Notes:** This will be a couple-chaptered fic. Because … pre-series Robin/Marian dynamic is too much fun to ignore.

Blow Your House Down

**Chapter 1: The Truce**

It took Robin of Locksley about six seconds to decide that he liked this Marian creature: he liked the way she scowled slightly as he kissed her hand, and the way her dress had mud stains across the back, and especially her somber little face that told him she was going to be too much fun to resist.

On the ride to her house, Much leaned over and whispers confidentially, "Bit of a stick in the mud, isn't she?"

Marian shot him a glare as sharp as daggers across the isle. "I can hear you, you idiot," she snapped scathingly. Robin didn't pay either of them much attention; his mind was already hours ahead, in the cover of darkness, plotting ways to put a toad in her bed or convince her of a haunting. "Listen. I know all about you and your stupid tricks, Robin of Locksley, so don't think for a second that I'm going to fall for any of them."

Much shrunk back from her, offering a timid smile as he laughed nervously. "Tricks?" He asked, his voice unnaturally high. "Don't . . . don't know what you're talking about, my lady. Robin will be on his best behavior. King's honor."

She sniffed, curling her arms over her chest and shifting her stare to Robin. He smiled disarmingly, the way that always worked to get him out of trouble with the girl servants and his mum, and made sure his slingshot was well-concealed as he stuck out a hand. "King's honor," he repeated.

Marian gazed at his outstretched limb as if examining it for some sort of disease. Then, tentatively, she clasped it with her tiny fingers and shook once, hard.

Even so. For the rest of the ride she kept one eye trained carefully on his hands, and she would only talk to Much.

---

Dinner was boring, as usual; mostly just their fathers going on about crops and harvests and other boring talk while their mothers gossiped and laughed and traded tips. On the other hand, he was seated next to Marian, and despite her best efforts she kept getting distracted by servers or parents or other such interruptions and couldn't properly monitor him.

"I think they're getting on famously," one mum said to another, and they turned to study the children. Both Robin and Marian plastered on wide smiles. "Robin, don't you think Marian looks lovely this evening?"

He smiled at her like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "Absolutely I do," he gushed. "Marian, would you like some sugar for your tea?"

Her mother cooed. Marian studied the offered item with suspicion until her mother hissed, "Well, Marian, take it!"

She cautiously lowered a spoonful of sugar into her cup and then shoved the sweet back at him. "Thank you," she muttered, and raised her tea to her lips.

He watched her face careful as the liquid touched her mouth and she realized that it was _not_ sugar lacing the edges of her cup. The sour tang of salt slapped against her gums and tongue, curling her features into a grimace as she swallowed.

But to his great disappointment, her expression didn't change except for a light, friendly smile she handed him. "Thank you," she repeated cheerfully. "I _do_ love my tea sweet."

He didn't understand.

"Do you . . . want some more?" He asked helplessly, thinking that perhaps she hadn't put enough salt into the fluid to have an effect.

The salt-for-sugar trick _always_ got results. He didn't understand how this tiny slip of a sheriff's daughter could guzzle that much salt and not even _notice_.

She accepted the extended sugar bowl with a gracious nod. "Oh, yes, _please_," she replied, dipping into the salt and dumping several more spoonfuls in and drinking with apparent ease and pleasure.

He wondered if perhaps he'd mistaken the sugar for salt and simply switched one sugar for another. There was no other explanation for Marian's apparent oblivion to an otherwise perfectly executed prank.

He carelessly dipped his own spoon into the sugar bowl and funneled more than a fair amount of the substance in (just to be sure he could taste it). He brought the cup to his lip and opened his mouth wide, nearly half the cup pouring over his tongue and into his throat.

He spluttered, coughing and wheezing as it scratched and fought its way down. He covered his mouth, fighting the urge to throw up, when suddenly he could feel the substance rocket through his nose and explode out his nostrils, spraying across the table and splattering the guests on the other side.

Marian squealed in laughter, clapping her hands and finally putting her teacup down. He turned, staring dumbly at her for a full five seconds before emotion could even kick in. Much clapped his back worriedly, waving his hand in front of Robin's face. "Master? Master? Are you all right, sir?"

"I told you I wasn't going to fall for your tricks, Robin Hood," Marian whispered sweetly.

Robin waved Much aside, keeping his eyes on the delighted Marian. She was smirking victoriously, eyes wide and innocent. "I'm fine," he snapped. "It just went down funny." Still looking at his newfound opponent, Robin began shoveling spoonful after spoonful of salt into what was left of his tea. His stomach squirmed as he watched the color change and lighten. The salt sizzled slightly as it hit the water, only to be silenced as it sunk to the bottom.

Marian's eyes narrowed in confusion and her laughter faded. "What are you doing?" She asked, frowning.

"Sweetening my tea," he replied, smiling lightly and clenching his fist beneath the table as he swallowed the god-awful liquid. He couldn't keep from grimacing but continued gamely to drink, watching with satisfaction as her jaw dropped.

She thought she'd beaten him. But Robin of Locksley was not easily defeated.

Her face colored slightly and she scowled, reaching across him for the salt. She dumped at least five spoonfuls into her own cup and began drinking furiously. Instantly he retaliated, adding more salt and drinking more quicker than she; but she only doubled his salt concentration, swallowing in huge gulps. He raised her two spoonfuls and she one-upped him; they continued like this for several minutes, neither willing to give up, neither willing to admit defeat.

Marian's face had paled, and with every sip of tea tears gathered in her eyes from the sting. His stomach churned and bubbled, threateningly close to rising back up his throat and decorating the tablecloth. Marian whimpered as she added another spoonful to her cup and he almost cried with joy. "Had enough?" He croaked, half-desperate for her to say yes.

"Have you?" She whispered hoarsely back and took a long drink of the tea. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

He considered throwing a tantrum; it wasn't fair! Why couldn't she just be quietly and tearfully scandalized like the girls at Locksley would have been? Why did she have to go and try to beat him?

He emptied the salt into his cup and finished the tea triumphantly. Surely this meant victory. (He didn't think he could stand continued competition.)

Marian stared disbelievingly at the empty sugar bowl and then raised her eyes to his. For a second he thought she was going to admit defeat; then she turned to her servant and said in a gravelly, pained voice, "Lilly, will you please bring me some salt?"

His jaw dropped.

He watched in amazed silence as she added another spooning of salt to her tea and struggled to drink it; she managed a single swallow before she leaned to the side and threw up all over the floor.

Instantly the adults were at her side, carrying her to the bedroom and fussing over her; he felt himself getting queasy himself and jumped up, running as fast as he could to the nearest window where he, too, failed to keep down his dinner. His father was by his side in a blink, hefting him into his arms and carrying him up the stairs in the wake of Marian and her parents. They lay the children beside one another and fussed for a few minutes before leaving to fetch a doctor.

"Don't tell them," Marian croaked. "You'll get us both in trouble."

He nodded. "Okay." They lay in silence for a few minutes and then he said quietly, "I'm sorry I made you throw up."

She giggled. "I'm sorry I made _you_ throw up."

He turned his head to look at her, the first girl not to put up with his trickery. He felt a quiet, unobtrusive feeling of respect spreading through his stomach as she valiantly struggled to keep from throwing up again. He stuck out a hand. "Truce?"

She didn't regard this offer as carefully as she had the first; she simply latched onto his fingers and smiled, squeezing weakly. "Truce." She hesitated. "And later, you can tell me how you switched the salt without anyone noticing."

He grinned. It took him about six seconds to realize he was still holding her hand.


	2. Apples to Apples

Blow Your House Down

**Chapter Two: Apples to Apples**

It was one thing, Marian decided sullenly as she fidgeted beneath the layers of frills and lace of her new dress, that she wasn't allowed to roughhouse with Robin and Much anymore. She'd been expecting Rose to tire of mending countless dresses and covering bruises or cuts with additional satin. Her father's latest decree hardly came as a surprise—and if she was honest, Marian didn't feel too disappointed.

After all, they weren't ten-year-olds anymore and Robin was getting _strong_.

But it was an entirely different matter that she was now confined to the four walls of her room with no company other than a book and her embroidery when Robin got to go gallivanting off into Sherwood with Much and the village boys. She could outride any of them, Marian thought bitterly, and if it weren't for her dresses getting in the way all the time she could outrun them, too.

"Oh, for the love of God! _Where_ has that boy got to?" Marian's ears pricked, her eyes stilling on the page as she strained to hear to the all-too-familiar voice of an exasperated Rose as the woman frantically lifted pillows and opened doors in her search. "I swear in the name of Sheriff _Fitzwalter_, I am going to give him _such_ a beating when I find that little scoundrel. . . "

Marian grinned, snapping her book shut and tossing it onto her bed. She could smell an adventure a mile away, and Robin's absence meant only one thing: wonderful, devious, _dangerous_ trouble.

She hesitated for a moment, remembering her father's stern words the week before, and then dropped off the windowsill and onto the pile of hay she and Robin had prepared for this specific purpose. Tiptoeing carefully passed the window, she peered round the side of the house just in time to see Much staggering toward town with an armful of green apples.

She scurried toward him, half-cross to have been excluded in whatever plan Robin had hatched. She hissed, "Much!"

He startled and the apples when flying, several conking him on the head before landing comfortably in the grass. He sighed miserably, picking them up with resignation. "Lady Marian," he greeted dully. "How are you this morning?"

She rolled her eyes at him, snatching several apples and piling them into her apron. "Fine," she said curtly, "But where's Robin? What's he doing? Why didn't you get me?"

Robin's playmate didn't answer for several seconds, just sighed longingly at the fruit in his arms. "He's in town," he began, "with some crazy plan to give apples to an apple-seller, which makes _no_ sense . . . why would you give fruit to a fruit stand? He doesn't seem to understand the purpose of a _market._ 'It's where you _buy_ food', I told him, but does he listen to me, Much, his best friend? _Noooo . . ._"

Marian swatted at him, hurrying Much along by quickening her own pace. "Never mind that," she scolded, "I can't believe he didn't invite me along! Who does he think he is? Like he can pull _anything_ off without me!"

"You two have yet to pull _anything_ without getting caught. Maybe if you could learn to work _together_ and not always try to one-up each other you might accomplish something," he grumbled back, "Or need I remind you of yesterday—and last week—and the week before—and the month before—and last summer—and—"

"All right, all right," she interrupted sourly, "No need to rub it in. And I stand by the fact that yesterday was entirely Robin's fault. If he hadn't—"

"Yesterday was _not_ my fault!" Robin swung down from a roof, landing lightly on his feet and grinning broadly at her. "Took you long enough to get here, what held you up?"

Marian scowled. "Yes, glad to be _included_," she snapped. "And you're welcome for carrying these stupid things."

He made a face at her, poking out his tongue. "Thought you were too_busy_, doing all that _reading_," he retorted. "'Sides, if what you wore to dinner last night says anything then you're too prim and proper to help with pranking anyhow."

She straightened, shaking her apron. She _wanted_ to shake a fist but she ran the risk of dropping the apples, and then Robin _really_ might not let her help. So she settled, adding instead extra venom to her reply. "Rose put me in that dress, _I_ didn't want to wear it! And anyway, she only said I had to be a lady because _you_ got me in trouble for setting my canopy on fire, so it's _your_ fault anyway!"

He shifted guiltily. "I _am_ sorry about your canopy," he told her sincerely, and stuck out a hand. Careful of her cargo, she spat into her palm, and took the offer with smug finality. He grinned, impressed, and she let go before she started getting that hot, embarrassed feeling she sometimes did when he looked at her for too long.

"It's okay," she forgave easily. "So what's the plan?"

Robin smiled. He pointed across the square at a little apple stand, where a large man was selling only red apples. Marian could hear him bellowing from her position; he was shouting swearing as he stooped to pick up coins he'd dropped. "We're going to switch the apples," Robin explained with a wicked expression on his safe. "One by one, so he doesn't notice at first. By the time we're done they'll all be green!"

Marian laughed. "That'll show him to be so loud," she mocked. "But what'll you do with the traded apples?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Give them away, I suppose."

"You wouldn't rather be at home embroidering?" Much entreated Marian. "We're all certain that this is how we want to spend an otherwise lovely afternoon? Think of it—we could be swimming, or riding, or, I don't know…something that won't get us all _hanged_?"

"They wouldn't hang us, I'm going to marry Marian," the other boy declared imperiously.

Marian faked a shudder. "Ew! In your dreams!" She laughed and avoided his good-natured punch, ducking through the crowd. Robin and Much trailed behind, crouching behind a storage box for cover. "All right. Much and I will create a distraction while you take the apples and hide under his stand so you can switch them while he's not looking. I'll go first," he added bravely. "Wish me luck!"

She kissed his cheek, quickly, her face hot. She thought for sure he would yell at her, but instead he just grinned charmingly and tossed an apple into the air. He strode confidently towards the vender. Marian couldn't hear what was said, but she watched with glee as the man's face darkened into a deeper and deeper red while Robin remained cool and calm, rocked back on his heels as he toyed with the apples at the man's stand.

After a few minutes, Much sighed heavily. "Tell my mum I loved her," he muttered, and marched after Robin, mud splashing up his legs. The two boys leapt at one another, tousling playfully. They careened dangerously close to the stand and the vender took a step away to avoid the flailing limbs.

Marian took the opportunity to beeline, apron curled around the apples, towards the table. She dove beneath the tablecloth and pulled her knees to her chest, holding her breath. She could see the seller's feet from the other side of the cloth but he didn't seem to have noticed her intrusion.

"Oi! You boys be careful, watch my apples!"

She began frantically switching out the apples, her hands moving so quick that she could barely keep track of them. Every time the seller took a step forward she froze, her whole body stiff as she tried not even to breath in case he notice.

"Sorry, sir, it's just that this idiot here—"

"Don't call me an idiot! _You're_ the idiot!"

"Oh, jigger off!"

Suddenly the seller rounded the table, his huge feet splashing mud just shy of Marian's new dress. "All right, lads, that's _it_! You come here and I'll show you what's . . ." he trailed off wonderingly. Marian curled into the tightest ball she could, praying she wouldn't be seen. "What's—what's happened to my apples?" She stifled a giggle, watching the vender's feet pace back and forth across the table, his voice high pitched and frightened. "What . . . how . . . I don't . . . what magic is this?"

He turned swiftly. "I don't know what you did, but get away from here before I call the Sheriff!"

Marian watched as Robin's and Much's feet scampered from the stand. Her eyes darted about, looking for an escape route. But there was none; no matter which way she dove, the seller would see her and undoubtedly drag her back. So she stayed frozen beneath the table, praying he would leave for a minute and she could get away.

Panic started to set in. She couldn't get caught. She couldn't. Rose would find out and Daddy would find out and then they'd _really_ never let her leave her room.

There was a shout; the vender's feet turned away from the table and she watched with amazement as Robin dove in next to her, curling his legs him and leaning against her to minimize space.

"Didn't think I'd leave you here, did you?" He whispered with a grin. She didn't even tease back, she was so happy to see him. He grabbed her hand and squeezed once before whipping his leg out and catching the seller's shin; the man toppled over. "Come on! Run, Marian, quick!" Robin pushed her from under the table and she scrambled for a second in the mud before finding hold and sprinting from the market as fast as her legs could carry her. She didn't stop running until she reached Knighton, where she clambered up the hay pile and back into her window. She inspected herself in the mirror—barely any dirt of mud, just a bit around the edges and that could easily be brushed off or cleansed with water.

She stuck her head out of the window. "Robin, it's safe, you can come up." There was no answer. She frowned, leaning out further. "Robin?"

Her eyes widened as she gazed down the path. The angry apple-seller had Robin by the ear and was dragging him down the path toward Knighton Hall, livid. Robin made three escape attempts but each was thwarted. Marian caught his eyes once and he offered a half-hearted, _what-can-you-do?_ grin before resigning himself to his fate.

Her father came out the front door, hands on his hips. "Oh, for heaven's sake. What have you done now, Robin?"

Marian held her breath. "I tricked this _nice_ man into thinking his apples had changed color," he explained shamelessly, a little smile hovering around the edges of his mouth.

Daddy sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "Even when we try to keep you away from Marian you cause trouble. This is the last straw, son. I'm sorry. I have to send you home." Robin's eyes widened and all traces of humor fell of his face.

"What? But sir—"

Marian yelped, loudly enough to draw the attention of the small band below. She leapt out onto the hay and tumbled down to the ground, scrambling back onto her feet and taking her place at Robin's side with her chin in the air. "It's not his fault," she declared, ignoring Robin's incredulous look. "I made him do it."

Her father raised his eyebrows, shoulders sagging. "What?"

"I—I was angry that you said I wasn't allowed to leave my room, so I tricked Robin into switching the apples. I told him you'd ended my punishment early due to good behavior and that we should celebrate."

She held her breath, half-fearing she wouldn't be believed. For good measure she added quietly, "Please don't make him go, Daddy." Robin looked at her sharply but she made a point of ignoring him, pleading with her father. "I'll be good for the rest of the summer. I promise. I won't prank or fight or light anything on fire or ruin my dresses and I'll do embroidery and read every day like you want me to. Please."

Her father sighed, shaking his head slowly. "How many apples do you have now, sir?"

The seller shrugged. "'Bout the same amount, I'd say."

"More," Robin corrected. "We left you your original apples, too."

The Sheriff of Nottingham smile tiredly, giving in with an exasperated laugh. "All right. The boy can stay. But no more of this, do you understand?" Marian squealed, hurling herself into his arms and kissing his cheek several times over. "And don't think we aren't going to talk about you sneaking out today, young lady," he added, firmly but affectionately as he set her back down onto her own two feet.

He invited the seller in for an apologetic cup of tea and left Robin and Marian to themselves. They just looked at each other for a second until Robin muttered, "Thanks."

Marian smirked at him, laying a soft punch on his shoulder. "Didn't think I'd leave you here, did you?" She echoed.

Robin opened his mouth like he was going to say something when Much suddenly tumbled out of Marian's window and onto the hay. "What'd I miss?" He asked, breath heaving. "I ran back as fast as I could. Did we get caught?"

They shared a smile, hands brushing. Their fingers almost connected before Robin pulled away, red. "Marian saved us," he declared proudly, and after a pause added, "_And_ admitted it was her fault that her canopy got set on fire."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did _not_!"

Much rolled his eyes. "Here we go," he muttered. "There is something very _wrong_ with you two."


End file.
